Monday morning arrived with the clarity of a fresh start. I stood in front of my closet—not the modest wardrobe I'd maintained as Marcus's wife, but my real closet, three rooms of designer originals, vintage couture, and bespoke pieces.
I selected a charcoal gray Armani suit, fitted and powerful, paired with Louboutin heels and my grandmother's diamond earrings. Each piece was worth more than the entire "generous" settlement Marcus had offered me.
My hair, which I'd worn in a simple ponytail for years, was blown out sleek and straight by Marie, who'd been overjoyed to have me back. Makeup was subtle but impeccable, emphasizing my features rather than hiding them.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw Olivia Sinclair looking back. Not Marcus's convenient wife. Not the woman who'd made herself smaller to fit into his world.
Me.
The executive floor of Sinclair Global occupied the top fifteen
stories of our Manhattan headquarters. My office was on the fifty-seventh floor, corner view, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park on one side and the Manhattan skyline on the other.
My assistant, Patricia, a sharp woman in her forties who'd been keeping my office running in my absence, greeted me with a warm smile and a tablet full of briefings.
"Welcome back, Miss Sinclair. Your ten o'clock is already confirmed—the Hawthorne acquisition deal. Your father wants you to lead the
negotiation. I've prepared the files and comped analysis."
"Thank you, Patricia. It's good to be back."
The morning disappeared into work, and I remembered why I'd loved this. The strategy, the negotiation, the thrill of putting together pieces of a complex puzzle. By lunch, we'd secured the Hawthorne deal on terms fifteen percent better than projected.
My father stopped by my office at two.
"Heard you closed Hawthorne."
"Like riding a bike."
"That's my girl." He settled into one of my visitor chairs. "So. The Metropolitan Charity Gala is this Friday, not next month. Your mother may have been testing your recovery time."
"Of course she was."
"The guest list is... extensive. Three hundred of the city's most influential people. Including, I should mention, Marcus Chen and his new girlfriend."
I felt a small jolt but kept my expression neutral. "That was fast."
"He's been on the social circuit all week with Vanessa Hartley. Apparently announcing their engagement at the gala." He watched me carefully. "If you'd rather skip it—"
"Absolutely not." I sat up straighter. "I'm going. This is my world, Dad. I'm not going to hide from it because my ex-husband will be there."
He smiled, that proud father smile I'd missed. "That's what I hoped you'd say. In that case, you'll need a date. Several very eligible men have already reached out, somehow
having heard of your return."
"How mysterious," I said dryly. My mother's information network was legendary.
"The Whitmore boy—"
"Stop calling him that. He's thirty-two."
"—has requested the honor. So has the Ashford heir, the Kensington boy—"
"Dad."
"—and interestingly, Damien Cross."
That made me pause. Damien
Cross was a self-made billionaire, founder of CrossTech Industries. Where families like mine had inherited wealth, he'd built his from nothing. He was known for his ruthless business tactics, his refusal to play by old money rules, and his notorious dislike of people like me—the ones born into privilege.
"Why would Damien Cross want to take me to a charity gala?"
"Perhaps he's heard about your unique qualifications. You did just prove you could walk away from wealth and live like a normal person
for three years. That's more self-awareness than most of our circle will ever have."
"Or he wants something business-related."
"That too." My father stood. "Think about it. But whoever you choose, make sure you're going for yourself, not to prove something to Marcus Chen."
After he left, I stared out at the city below. Friday. The Metropolitan Charity Gala. My official return to society.
And Marcus would be there, with
the woman he'd chosen over me.
My phone buzzed with an email from an unknown address.
Miss Sinclair,
I understand congratulations are in order for your return to Sinclair Global and your new freedom. I also understand you need a date to the Metropolitan Charity Gala this Friday.
I have a business proposition that requires someone of your particular talents and social position. One evening of your time, and I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.
The choice is yours.
—DC
Damien Cross.
I sat back in my chair, a smile playing at my lips.
This was going to be interesting.